


Band of Misfits

by enjolrarses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, I'm not really sure what I'm doing okay its like two in the morning, M/M, cas is a something i never really figured that one out, demon!Sam, sort of, they're still hunters i never actually said that whoops, vampire!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 11:28:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enjolrarses/pseuds/enjolrarses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was Dean and Benny who actually found him, one freezing night in the North Dakota snow. He was staring up at the sky, head cocked to one side, contemplating the dark night as if it was a classic car ready to be restored, as if it was a pie without ice cream, as if it was Star Trek, but the reboot. Nearly there- but there was something missing, something that he could fix."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Band of Misfits

There are not many of them.

 

There are Dean and Benny, the vampire blood-brothers; Dean’s biological and once-human brother, Sam, the demon with the human heart; Charlie, the dragon with a penchant for computers, and Star Wars, and Harry Potter (and female virgins, but they don’t talk about that); there’s Bobby, the gruff old werewolf.  There’s Jo and Ellen, completely human and more dangerous than the rest of the team put together; Ash, Charlie’s techno-crush and the smartest mulletman any of them have ever know. Or regular man. Or being.

 

Then there’s Cas.

 

Cas is a mystery. Cas is a riddle wrapped in an enigma wrapped in a very attractive meatsuit. Cas is- well. No one knows who, or _what_ Cas is. He’s not human, that’s for sure, and he’s nothing any of them have ever seen. He’s not a demon, or a jinni, he’s not a were or vamp or dragon, like they are. He’s not a spirit, not a poltergeist.

 

What he is, is not just an amnesiac superbeing. He’s a fucking awesome sparring partner and, if you bothered to ask Dean, you’d know he gives the best blowjobs this side of the sixth plane (people have stopped asking Dean). He’s kind but fierce, he’s not arrogant, but painfully honest. He brought them together, their band of misfits.

 

It was Dean and Benny who actually found him, one freezing night in the North Dakota snow. He was staring up at the sky, head cocked to one side, contemplating the dark night as if it was a classic car ready to be restored, as if it was a pie without ice cream, as if it was Star Trek, but the reboot. Nearly there- but there was something missing, something that he could fix.

 

“You’ll not quench your thirst with me,” he’d said, not looking over once, not even to assess the danger.

 

“How’d we know? We haven’t tried,” replied Dean, circling around one side while Benny took the other. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, eyes feral in the soft light of the moon. His fingers twitched desperately, eager to sink into the soft flesh of the beautiful man in front of him.

 

A soft grunt answered him, while the man curled his lips in a smile. “How do I know you are Dean Winchester, who sold his soul to a demon in exchange for him brother? How do I know that your brother did the same thing, only the demon didn’t bring you back whole, and no matter what you did you couldn’t retrieve him? How do I know your companion is Benny Lafitte, the vampire who abandoned the life for Andrea Kormos, but left with you after she died at his hands?”

 

Two hundred years ago these words would have made Dean more than angry. But when he grabbed the man by the throat, all that ran through his brain was curiosity- he was not the same Dean Winchester he had been two hundred years ago.

 

“Yes,” he whispered, running his fangs along the man’s jugular. “How do you know that?” He could feel the pulse underneath his lips, beating in slow, sure pumps, enticing scent coming off in waves. He felt it, he knew he could take one bite and this man would be no more.

 

He’d thought himself in control of the situation. How wrong he had been.

 

The man’s strength was easily equal to his own, if not greater. He easily pushed him away from his neck, not quite strong enough to pick him up, but he did use Dean’s own momentum against him to fling him straight into Benny, who had been creeping up behind him. Vampires didn’t daze easily, but Dean sure as hell felt dazed when the man pressed his back into the cold snow forcibly, white (ordinary) teeth glinting slightly.

 

“I don’t know,” said the man.

 

“Wouldja like to find _out_?” asked Dean in awe.

***

 

It was Cas who’d sworn them both off human blood- Benny for the second time. It hadn’t been an easy process, and they’d both been found in _extremely_ compromising positions more than once.

 

“I don’t understand,” Dean had said. “Why do you care for them so much? They’re just _human_.”

 

“You were human once.” Cas was looking disapprovingly at the bottle of whiskey in Dean’s hands, but hadn’t tried to take it away yet. It wasn’t like Dean could get drunk now anyway.

 

“Yeah, and look how well that turned out for me,” sneered Dean, as he took a swig. “They don’t care for me, I don’t care for them.”

 

There was a beat, and then Cas turned to look straight at him, eyes like headlamps on a dark night. “Your brother cared for you.”

 

Dean laughed bitterly. “Don’t talk to me about my brother.” The nearly empty bottle was thrown to the ground as he stood up, bushing imaginary dirt from his leather jacket. “Don’t you dare talk to me about him.” He turned to leave, but not before a satisfied gleam could take spark in Cas’s eyes.

 

That was more like the Dean Winchester he saw in his mind’s eye.

 

***

 

Cas had found Sam, soon after that, torturing parishioners in Georgia. Strapped to a chair in a Devil’s trap, head lolling about as he laughed manically, gesturing down to himself. “This is the original body, y’know,” he said with glee. “Do you recognise it, _brother_? It’s mine, all _mine_!” A couple of years after the blood incident, Dean couldn’t stand it, Benny drawing him in as Cas systematically injected his baby brother with the blood of the nice Hunter lady that had tried to kill them- Ellen- that was standing in the corner, Samuel Colt’s gun in her hands, ready to shoot.

 

When Sam came back to himself, he begged to die. That was worse, to Dean- seeing him in pain. It was worse than seeing him inflicting it.

 

***

 

Charlie they found when she tried to pick up Ellen’s daughter, Jo, at the Roadhouse. Home base was less of a hunter bar these days than an asylum for human-friendly creatures- at least, that’s what Charlie had heard, and they’d done nothing to dispel the notion.

 

She’d gotten along with Dean straight away, and by the end of the night there was a projector in the back room showing _The Empire Strikes Back_. Afterwards, there was no question whether she was going to stay, especially when she leaned over to Cas, staring at Dean, and asked in a whisper, “When are you gonna hit that? Or are you already-“

 

“Shush,” said Cas with an aura of self-satisfaction. “I’m working him up to it.”

 

***

 

Bobby was a surprise. Mostly because they’d never met a Hunter who was also a creature.

 

“Yer all idjits,” he’d said. “I ain’t stopping’ something I like jus’ because I get a little _sick_.”

 

Dean thought that maybe being a friggin’ werewolf was a _bit_ more than just plain ‘sick’, but the guy had amazing self control for a were, and was a crack shot to boot.

 

***

 

The first time Cas kissed Dean, it was in the middle of the pouring rain. It sounds very romantic _now_ , but back then it was been very wet and cold and kinda awkward with the mud swishing along their ankles.

 

But Dean’s mouth had been hot and perfect, and his _tongue_. Cas could write whole sonnets on that tongue. He could wax lyrical in iambic pentameter.

 

They’d had to pull away eventually, but they resumed again back inside, with hot cocoa and no clothing on.

 

***

 

So, in conclusion; there are not many of them. But they are family, and a pretty fucking close one at that.

 

(Also Cas and Dean keep them all in solidarity about the importance of earplugs and loud music at night when the two are going at it with their impossible strength and refractory time).

**Author's Note:**

> I am so, so sorry, guys. I promise.
> 
> And here I pose a question to you: why the actual fuck can I only finish really bad works that I start too late at night? Is there a cure for this? Is it contagious? Will I be motivated enough tomorrow to check this over and weed out my mistakes and bad writing?
> 
> In other news, my tumblr is weaverofworlds.tumblr.com and you're perfectly welcome to drop me a line there. Or a prompt. Or whatever.
> 
>  
> 
> (Spoiler alert: the answer to the last question is 'probably not').


End file.
